Fright Night
by Duckie Nicks
Summary: On Halloween, House tries to prevent Cuddy from going out with another man. The repercussions of success are unexpected and possibly more than either House or Cuddy can handle. One shot. Contains adult situations.


Author's Notes: This fic was written for dalilita for her numerous contributions and auction pinch hits at the LJ community, help_lisa. She wanted something set in somewhere in seasons 1-5 that was sexy but confrontational (not fluffy or angsty) and smutty. As such, this fic contains graphic sexual situations. If that offends you, please don't read.

_Disclaimer: I don't own the show._

**Fright Night**  
_By Duckie Nicks_

She regretted opening the door the second she saw who was behind it. A Halloween costume party wasn't her idea of a great first date, but she'd been willing to go along with it. It had been a while since someone had showed interest in her, and he was attractive and kind enough to warrant her humoring him. But she would have sacrificed all of that to avoid seeing House's face when she opened the door and he saw her dressed like a mouse.

Well, that was a bit of a stretch – not how she felt about House, of course, but the "dressed like a mouse" part. Although that was how the costume was described, it was hardly accurate. A short, tight gray dress with a white chest, a tail dangling off the back, and a hoodie with gray ears attached didn't feel like a good representation of a mouse. Then again, she was hoping to get laid; she didn't need realism on her side for that.

Before she could even slam the door in House's face, he exclaimed, "Meow."

Cuddy had thought it was her date, five minutes early and eager to take her out. That would have been too easy though, she lamented while trying to ignore the lascivious look House was giving her.

"I'm a _mouse_." Immediately after the correction, she went on the defensive. "It's stupid, I know."

He cocked his head to the side. "Not the adjective I would use."

"It's for a party." She purposely left out the part where she was going _with_ someone.

"I didn't think you dressed like that for bed," he said, stepping into her home in spite of the fact that she hadn't invited him inside.

"No, no. Come inside, House," she told him sarcastically.

"Emphasis on 'come' when you're dressed like that."

She ignored the remark. "I assume you're here for a reason and not to –"

"Not so fast."

"No, let's go _that_ fast." The longer he stood there, half-paying attention to what she said while he looked at her body, the more she just wanted him to go. As flattering as his behavior was, she didn't want him here right now. Although she looked _good_, she didn't want him to be a witness to this, to the man who was going to be here soon to take her to the party. But it was clear she wouldn't get her way. He deduced the situation too quickly.

"So there's a man."

She shook her head. "No. Of course not."

"So you're lying about there being man, which means he's either going to be here soon and you don't want me to meet him or he's a total loser and you don't want me to make fun of you for having no taste."

"_Or_ I'm getting ready to leave." To make the half-truth seem believable, she turned to grab her coat and purse. She didn't put the jacket on, a fatal mistake. "So if you need me to okay something, get to the point."

"Truthfully I did have a point, but your ass is distracting."

"You really need to pull yourself together."

If he obeyed, she knew it had nothing to do with what she was saying. If he did it, it was only because he'd gotten bored of the dynamic. But instead of discussing his case with her, he decided to focus on who she was dating instead.

"Who is it?" he asked.

It was then that she understood: he hadn't come here for a patient. There were no tests he needed okayed. It had been curiosity only that drove him to her home, which meant that he had somehow figured out that she had a date. Silently she dreaded how the next several minutes of her life would be lived and, with a sigh, set her things back down.

"Does it matter?" she tossed back. "You'll insult him, whether you know him or not. You'll insult me, and then you'll leave. So why don't we save ourselves the trouble of having this conversation and assume that he's an idiot and I have no taste, and you can leave?"

The tactic only amused House. An uneven smile on his face, he wasn't interested in her solution. "It's no trouble for me. Besides, I wouldn't want to say anything that wasn't true."

"You don't know him. Anything you say is going to be wrong, so why don't –"

"I see," he interrupted, still grinning, her reluctance only pleasing him further. "So this is serious then. If it weren't, you'd tell me who it was."

She shook her head. "No, I wouldn't."

"If it weren't serious, you would have said that when I just said that it was."

"It's not serious."

"You're just saying that to throw me off the –"

"You're insane," she accused, more than a little irritated at this point.

He didn't let up. "And you're deflecting."

"I am." There was no need to deny it. She found it more enjoyable to give him the small concession, leaving him unable to fight her on every detail. "But it's true nonetheless. So since I'm not going to tell you anything, you can turn around and –"

"Your whiskers aren't straight."

"What?"

He lifted a finger and used the dulled edge of his nail to trace along the black eyeliner she'd used to draw whiskers and a nose on her face. The touch was soft, more tender than she thought possible from a man like him.

The moment was charged… somehow. He wasn't any closer than he had been before, but it felt like there was no space between them, no air. His finger was warm, his eyes on her mouth, and for a woman who had only planned on having sex tonight, he seemed suited for the job right then.

He reminded her why he wasn't. "You're gonna need to fix that if you have any hope of getting laid. It looks like a drunk –"

"It's fine."

"Go look in a mirror," he ordered gruffly.

She did though she certainly didn't want to. For her, there was no doubt that her make up looked fine. She'd drawn the lines on carefully. At the same time though, it was obvious that he wouldn't leave until she indulged him. And even then, she'd have to force him out the door probably.

It was not to her surprise as a result that when she headed down the hallway to the guest bathroom, he eagerly followed her.

"Do you think this is appropriate?" she asked as he tagged along. "Do you think other doctors do this? Harass their boss after work?"

"Do you think I'm like other doctors? Do _you_ think other bosses dress like _that_?" The line of question was promptly abandoned though as curiosity made him ask, "Are those your nipples?"

She stopped moving and cocked her head in his direction, in confusion. "Whose nipples would they be?" She began walking before he could answer.

"I don't know. Could be fake."

It was so ridiculous she couldn't help but laugh a little. "Why would they be fake?"

"Some women use them to make their breasts seem perkier than they really are. At least, that's what the contents of Wilson's TiVo tell me."

There was no reason to do it (no legitimate one anyway), but she spun around then. Leaning against the doorframe to the bathroom, she felt the desire to taunt rise within her. He was making it so obvious, even if unintentionally, that he found her attractive. She'd known that, of course. They'd had sex before, so part of him had at least at one point wanted her. But now, motivated by jealousy and her appearance, he seemed unable to fight that attraction. And she was equally inept at refusing the urge to use that against him.

"Does it look like I need help in that area?"

It was an invitation to look, albeit a sarcastic one, and he didn't deny himself the long glance he'd been trying to have all evening.

Before he could finish, she said triumphantly, "That's what I thought."

She turned around and headed into the bathroom. She didn't have any desire to waste time watching him stare at her. The second she saw herself in the mirror, she corrected herself: she didn't _have_ the aforementioned time to waste. The whisker House had touched was a smeared mess.

There was no confusion as to _why_ that was the case.

_He_ had done it himself. When he'd said there was something wrong with the line she'd drawn, when he'd touched her, he'd used that opportunity to smudge it.

She should have known. That was her first thought. He was an _asshole_, but she should have known he would do it.

"Hey," she snapped, just as House slipped into the bathroom with her. "Would you mind getting a butcher knife from the kitchen so I can kill you?" Her hand shoved the faucet on and to the left. Internally she counted the minutes she had left before she _had_ to be ready. There were maybe two. And he was still here; half of her face would need to be redone (she didn't trust her hands, which were shaking with rage, to clean the screwed up whisker without messing up the others). This was _not _how she envisioned her date going – at all.

"Why are you here?" she asked suddenly, exhausted from his antics and not in the mood to deal with him any longer.

His answer was standard, emotionless: "I want to know who you're dating."

"I'm not _dating_ anyone." She reached for a washcloth and began to run it under the hot water.

"You're going out with someone tonight then. I want to know –"

"Why?"

"Because I'm curious."

"_Why?"_

He didn't hesitate to answer. "Cause if you start dating this guy, you're probably going to start having sex with him at times when I need your approval for something. And well, I'd like to know whose saggy ass I'm staring at. Besides yours I mean."

She shook her head in disbelief but recovered from the feeling quickly. Giving into her anger once more, she started to scrub at her face. "You could _call_, like you're supposed to by the way, and avoid that situation completely. Not that it matters, because this is _one_ date. That's it. It's _probably_ not going to turn into a relationship."

"I'd like to guarantee that," he told her like it was the most natural thing in the world to destroy her changes with another man. Then she supposed for him, it was.

She was about to respond, but to her horror, her cell phone rang at that second. House's eyes lit with mischief at the potential opportunity almost instantly. Neither he nor she could know who was calling. It could have been her mother easily trying to reach her, the hospital even. Yet they both suspected it was the man she was seeing tonight.

Before the thought could even form in her mind, she had dropped the washcloth. But House had also made his move. As she stepped out of the bathroom, he was already walking briskly towards the sound of the cell.

"Don't you dare pick up that phone," she warned.

He laughed a little. "Sorry. Can't hear you over all that ringing. I better answer it."

She grabbed onto the pink button down shirt he was wearing, but that had no effect on him. He kept walking. She tried again, this time latching onto his elbow. He remained amused and unaffected.

"That's cute, Minnie, but I don't have time for this." She dug her fingernails into him, so that the pain would give him pause. "Now, now, keep your claws to yourself." But even in saying that, he was hardly hurt. She supposed that was to be expected given the amount of Vicodin he took on a daily basis. She couldn't overcome the painkillers.

But she had to stop him, even as he got closer and closer to her phone. Pain wouldn't work. Reasoning with him wouldn't work. The only thing left was overpowering him physically. Grabbing him alone hadn't been effective, which meant she had to go a step beyond that.

It would be easy to stop him by adding her body weight to his… in other words, by hoisting herself onto his back. He couldn't walk with the extra pounds, his precarious balance ruined, right? That would work, she hoped. But climbing onto a moving target wasn't simple, and the height difference exacerbated the problem.

The skin tight, _short_ mouse outfit didn't help either.

Because even when she managed to keep her hands on his shoulders long enough to jump on him, everything else ensured she could barely leave the ground.

Somehow though, this colossal failure on her part caught House's attention. Though the phone continued to ring, he stopped.

"What is this?" he asked, not even turning around to look at her. "Is this – are you trying to hump me? Cause what you're doing isn't going to work, unless you have the proper equipment and then –"

"I wanted you to stop," she explained in a firm voice. Silently she was telling him she had _no_ desire to _hump_ him, and she hoped he got the message. If he didn't, or chose not to hear it, she was at least consoled by the fact that the phone had stopped ringing. "Never mind. I'm going to get that." She slid down off his back and nearly tripped on her tail to get away from him.

He followed her into the living room and watched her rummage through her purse. Part of her expected him to come in at the last second and snatch the phone from her. But he was content to wait in the hallway, his eyes trained on her intently.

Under his gaze, she was uncomfortable, nervous to check her voicemail. Something inside of her said that this phone call at the last minute wasn't a good sign. If her date were waiting for her in the driveway, he would have knocked on the door. Before she'd even heard the message, she knew what it would say. And House would watch her go through the inevitable rejection, and he would enjoy it. But she'd already reached for her phone; there was no avoiding finding out what the voicemail said. He wouldn't let her just walk away without listening to the message. So with no visible reluctance, she made herself put in the password for her voicemail.

As predicted, her date was canceling. To her surprise though, he had no intention of making it up to her. There was no last minute crisis with his daughter, no need to stay late at work. He was calling to tell her that his ex-wife had pleaded for another reconciliation, that, although he wasn't particularly interested, he had no choice but to do so for the sake of the child they had together. Through the explanation, there were several platitudes of apology, the regret obvious in his tone. The words left Cuddy unfazed. No explanations would make her happy. "I'm sorry" would never create forgiveness.

It wasn't that she was angry. Well, all right, she _was_ – because of _House_. But she didn't know the man she'd agreed to go on a date with that intimately. He was little more than a stranger, and it was hard to feel anything beyond a keen sense of disappointment. An underwhelming end to the date she'd only partly been interested in, the phone call didn't anger her as much as it made her wonder if she would ever find a partner who…

She left the thought unfinished as she hung up the phone. There was no point in giving into any sort of unhappiness, especially not while House was around.

Dropping her phone onto the couch, she told him sarcastically, "Crisis averted, House. You got what you wanted."

"Wow. You didn't even get this one through the door. That's gotta be a new record."

She didn't miss a beat, not even to feel sorry for herself. "Guess you're up then."

He didn't understand or didn't want to. Avoiding making any comment that would compel an explanation from her, he said slowly, "I think my work here is done. I'll be going –"

"No, I don't think so." He looked directly at her with anticipation. "You came here to stop me from going out, and you succeeded. The very least you can do now is make it up to me."

"So you want me to sleep with you." He was matter of fact about it, not at all disgusted or aroused.

Cuddy, however, was confused. "Excuse me?"

"That's what this is about. You're not getting any tonight, so I'm the replacement stud. Right? That's how this works?"

"… No." She was bewildered. "I was going to make you take me to the party, because you would hate it. Not –"

"Yeah, I like my idea better." Before she could even process what he was suggesting, he added, "Cause sex with you would be just as painful but a lot quicker, so –"

"_Right_. It would be _awful_ to have sex with me. That's why you're here. That's why you've gawked at me since you arrived: you're so _unattracted_ to me that sex would be painful for you."

He smiled. "You got it."

She wasn't dissuaded. "Okay. I'm gonna go take off my make up." She walked toward him carefully all the while knowing what she would do, knowing that it was a bad idea. But he had made the suggestion. Maybe not seriously, but he had made it, and she in spite of herself wanted to have sex with him. Or more accurately, she wanted _sex_, companionship, the temporary illusion that she wasn't completely alone.

He was here – and in complete denial of how attracted he was to her. She wanted to prove him wrong in the case of the latter and just as importantly wanted to take advantage of the former.

So when she went to walk past him, she carefully stopped in front of him, so close to his body that they were practically touching. Leaning in slightly, she said in a quiet voice, "You're free to leave."

Her hand slid over his as she started to move past him. It wasn't heavy contact; she made sure that her palm barely touched him. But it was enough to get him to take the bait.

Instantly he grabbed her, his fingers wrapping around her forearm. "I don't think so." As soon as he said the words, he was pushing her against the wall. She wanted to goad him further, rub his arousal in his nose, but she didn't have the chance. His mouth trapped hers, wouldn't allow her to speak.

Kissing him suddenly, she thought it was odd… _perfect_ but odd how it could feel so different and familiar at the same time. It was wrong; this was _such_ a bad idea. But his thumbs brushed against her cheeks, his lips on hers, and every doubt fell away.

"This is bad," he murmured against her, his mouth moving to her jaw then the side of her throat. Wet little pecks creating a trail, it was proof that he wasn't hesitating either.

She moaned in agreement, in pleasure. "I said you could leave."

He pulled his head away from her. "We both know that's not what you want." His hands skimmed along her sides and rested on her hips. He didn't go any further.

"Clearly you have no idea what I want." She eyed his hands to give him a hint.

It was a mistake on her part. Now that he knew that she needed him to speed things up, he was going to do everything he could to go slowly. Keeping his hands exactly where they were, he said, "I don't get it."

She rolled her eyes. "_Yes_, you do."

"Oh, that? Yes. I meant your costume."

"You didn't have any complaints ten minutes ago. Stop stalling."

"That's cause you look hot," he admitted. "But last I checked, mice had fur on their legs. The dress doesn't make sense is all I'm saying."

"It's a stupid costume. The only point of it was to look good –"

"For your date?" he asked judgmentally.

It was almost hilarious, the jealousy roiling off him. "My, you really do want me," she taunted. "You have me here, and you're still worried about another man."

He copped a feel as if to prove her point. The palm of his hand pressed against her breast, it was an act of dismissal. He didn't respond to the accusation, didn't even acknowledge that she'd said anything. Was that intentional, or was it simply unconscious reinforcement of the idea that he really did desire her? As his thumb ran along the upper push-up-bra-accentuated curve of her cleavage, she believed it didn't matter. House could keep his reasons to himself. She wanted something _else_ from him.

The conversation undeniably over, he leaned over and kissed the exposed part of her chest. As far as costumes went, he was right: it was a stretch at best. But the way it showed off her breasts was why she bought it – so she could have a man touch and kiss her like House was now.

Of course, she hadn't pictured _House_ being the one she'd screw tonight. But it had been long enough, and just for one night, she was willing to stoop to this particular level of sexual degradation. Just one time, one _more_ time, was all she needed.

Using his chin, lips, and nose, he somehow nuzzled her dress's fuzzy fabric away from her breasts. His teeth expertly nipped at her bra and pulled the cup down as well. If she weren't anticipating his next move, she would have been impressed.

She was not impressed.

His mouth closed around her newly exposed nipple. She moaned immediately at the heat. Her gaze cast upward as she arched her back into him.

"You've, uh…." She bit her lip as she tried to block out what he was doing. His tongue lapping against her breast while he sucked and tugged at her nipple made that difficult though. "Gotten better at this," she finally finished.

He pulled away, stood up straight. "And you've gotten worse," he said before pulling one of her hands toward his crotch. "You want a penis inside you, you've got to do a little work. It's not like a vibrator. I –"

"Talk? Aggravate me?" How she finished the sentence suggested there was more irritation in her than she actually felt in that moment. But in fact, she had no trouble taking his hint. Before he could complain further, she'd unbuttoned his jeans. The zipper soon followed, and when her intentions were clear, House sighed with relief. She almost asked him if he'd thought she would put up a fight. Did he really believe she wouldn't offer him anything in return for the pleasure he was giving her? If he did, the hand on his dick put an end to that doubt.

His interest in her renewed and heightened, he kissed her again. One of her breasts still hanging out, her fingers pulling his cock out of his pants, they moved against one another as they made out.

There was no conversation. There didn't need to be. It was obvious that they both wanted this; no one would be backing out. And to talk would have required separation, a pause. She couldn't speak for him, but for her, that break would have been too much. His cock, hard and warm, in her hand, his tongue gently teasing her mouth, the fingers tugging at her nipple – those were the things that mattered to her now. Confirming what his body and his actions were telling her wasn't needed, and it was barely a thought in her mind.

Of course, when he reached under her dress to pull off her underwear, thinking became impossible. If she hadn't been wet before (she had been), his fingers brushing against her mound would have taken care of that problem. Just as he could drive her crazy at work, he was doing the same here.

But this was worse. At least on the job, she had some awareness of his madness, an appreciation for the need to control it when he was behaving recklessly. That was not the case here. She'd bought into the insanity completely. When he lifted her up, she didn't question it at all. She just wrapped her arms around his neck and welcomed his dick into her body.

Afterwards, when she had time to realize their mistake, this moment would make her cringe. They were colleagues, _doctors_, having unprotected sex with each other. She would tell herself she was clean, she could take Plan B, and he wouldn't do this if he weren't clean as well. It would still embarrass her though.

But when it actually happened, she didn't care that they were being stupid. She didn't even realize they _were_ being stupid. All she could really do was relish the sensation of his cock buried in her to the hilt.

He was larger than she remembered, or maybe being screwed against the wall simply provided the perfect angle. Whatever the reason, he was right where she wanted him, doing exactly what she liked. She gasped, loving the way it felt. His pelvic ground against her clit, creating and spreading her wetness between them.

Because he was holding her against the wall, he couldn't thrust into her with much speed. But he didn't need it. _God_ he didn't need it, she thought, crying into his mouth. He was doing just fine without it.

Out of necessity then, he moved back and forth against her slowly. His cock never left her pussy, never even came close. But that was fine with Cuddy. It felt like he was all hers.

Her head falling to his shoulder, she found it impossible to focus on anything other than how turned on she was. Her cunt held him snugly, her grip as tight as the vice his fingers had around her nipples.

Cuddy was overwhelmed by the sense of rightness the act had. When they'd first started kissing, it was the forbiddenness, the idea that they shouldn't proceed, that had drawn them in. Now though, it all felt… like this was how it should be. She wasn't supposed to go to that party, date that man. The person she needed to be with was here.

Inside her.

It should have seemed wrong, but she found herself calling out, "Yes, yes!" instead.

House grunted with effort. A deep blush had spread across his face. Beads of sweat slipped down his cheeks, but he had never been hotter.

All she wanted was more – more of _him_, the last little bit to make her come.

Her pussy began to clench around him. She wanted to feel him against her as much as possible, didn't want a single millimeter of her wet cunt to be untouched. The use of her muscles definitely helped to achieve that end; she was now that much closer.

But paradoxically it wasn't enough. The nearer orgasm seemed, the more needy she became. Again she cried out. Legs wrapped tightly around his waist, she tried to pull herself closer to him, to have him inside her, deeper than any man ever had been.

She was clawing at him when it happened. He came with a shout, his body violently pushing her against the wall again. Finally his thrusts became rushed. Overwhelmed by his orgasm, he fucked her as hard as he could. He couldn't have been aware of the strain it would put on his thigh. And she didn't care, because it was the change in speed that did it for her.

She came equally loud, equally desperate for the feeling of heated joy to last forever.

But it couldn't. The semen coating her vagina and folds made reality come back to them far too quickly.

"Damn it," House muttered under his breath, before she'd even recovered. Carefully he set her back down on her feet. When he pulled out and moved away from her, their mistake was visible on his dick and pants.

At first she wanted to pretend like she didn't understand. She'd just had an orgasm, and she would have liked nothing more than to stay in that moment, dumb with pleasure and ignorant to the world around her. Unfortunately for her, she could see what was wrong. Her dress clinging to her sweaty ass, it was impossible to miss what had happened. And no amount of denial would make this any better. It would just elicit House's ire.

"We shouldn't have done that," he said regretfully, stuffing his dick back into his jeans. The mess on his pants left him looking dismayed, but he didn't complain about the cum stains. He was more concerned about making one thing clear: "I'm clean. You're not in danger of –"

"I didn't think I was," she interrupted, vaguely irritated by his reaction. Truth be told, he wasn't doing anything wrong; he was behaving like anyone would. But in that response was the unalterable fact that they'd screwed up. Wanting to pretend like this wasn't happening, she found his words more sobering than she liked.

Her agitation was contagious. "Well, we both know _you're_ clean."

"Shut up and go home, okay?" She'd gotten what she'd wanted; she was too tired to listen to the rest.

House was okay with that. "Fine. But just so we're in agreement, you're going to take something, right? You're not gonna try to get… pregnant." The last word was said with particular disgust.

She smirked. At least he was veering toward being amusing once more. "I don't want to have your child, House. I've seen _Rosemary's Baby_. I know how it ends."

He was reserved, silent. She wondered if that meant he didn't believe her and if that were the case, she didn't want to know why.

"It was a mistake," she summed up neatly. "We're idiots… but we're not so dumb as to have a _child_ together."

"Thank God for that."

But even in saying that, they were both aware of how stupid they really were. He'd come here looking to annoy her. She'd teased him about his jealousy, which she believed he had. He hadn't, however, planned on acting on it… just as she hadn't.

And yet… they had. Quickly, foolishly, they'd gone from fighting to having sex, and it was suddenly hard to believe anything either of them said about the other. They were _so_ stupid. They hadn't intended for any of this happen, but it had.

If she got pregnant…

If he tried to stop another date in the future…

She knew, _feared_ what would happen.

But even while thinking that, Cuddy found herself dabbling in the possibility of what it might be like to….

She didn't know how to finish the sentence, and she didn't want to. Some thoughts – like what she might want from House personally – were too frightening to complete.

Even if it was Halloween.

_The End_


End file.
